


in all my mistakes

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: Murder In Two Acts (The Serial Killer AU Even The Authors Didn't Want But Here We Are) [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Dark, Flashbacks, Gen, Knives, Rated Because Of Murder, Serial Killer James Madison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 16:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13035177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: How can you even live with yourself, James Madison?the mirror seemed to be asking him.Madison had no response to that.Nothing he could do would make up for what he had done.





	in all my mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> brain: hey  
> brain: you know what this verse needs  
> brain: more angst  
> me: …  
> me: sounds legit let's go

He didn’t know why he remembered.

_“Swirls or spots?”_

Didn’t know what triggered it.

_“You need to learn to treasure life.”_

Didn’t know why it had to have been _him_ , out of everyone on this Godforsaken planet.

_“Useless.”_

All he knew was that, one second, he was George Marshall, the quiet kid in the back of the classroom who just happened to have the highest marks in psychology in his year, and the next, he was James Madison, serial killer and nominee for the Worst Friend Of The Century award.

_I’m a serial killer._

He didn’t _want_ these memories. Didn’t want to _remember_ that time. His prayers to God were met with nothing but indifference.

The mug Madison had been holding shattered as he dropped it. It all felt like an out-of-body experience, like it wasn’t _Madison_ doing these things. He had no control over himself. Maybe never had.

_God. I’m a serial killer._

Has he always been this way? Cursed. Dangerous. Toxic.

He remembered everything—the way people struggled as Madison ruthlessly killed them, one after one—that little last sounds they made as life slipped away from them—the giggle that never failed to escape him as he watched and watched and _watched_. Fascinated.

_I killed over a hundred people._

_“You’re a_ psycho _._ _”_

_“I prefer the term ‘creative’.”_

_Without remorse._

It hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

_“You need help. I'm calling the cops.”_

_“You're doing no such thing.”_

And he had _smiled_. Smiled even as he cut into his best friend of _twenty-three years_. Had cut off his hand—had it been his right hand? It must have been his right hand. Madison didn’t make _mistakes_.

And then he had killed him. He killed his best friend. He killed Thomas.

_The blood flowed from Jefferson’s throat, staining everything around him._

How could he ever look Thomas in the eyes again, knowing what he had _done_?

_I’m a psycho._

_A psycho._

_A psycho._

He was noxious. Toxic. Dangerous. Less than dirt.

Filth.

_“You’re insane.”_

Madison was painfully aware of that. He didn’t need Laurens’ voice reminding him.

_“If you want to kill Thomas, you’re going to have to kill me first.”_

He was disgusting. He was unimaginably and irreversibly and immutably _disgusting_ , and nothing he’d ever do could make up for that.

 _How can you even live with yourself, James Madison?_ the mirror seemed to be asking him.

Madison had no response to that.

Nothing he could do would make up for what he had done.

He turned away from the mirror, unable to look at himself for another second.

 _“You kill for_ fun _.”_

His eyes stopped on a knife. Stared at it, mesmerized. Before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching out for it.

_There was blood everywhere._

His hand clasped tightly around it.

 _His fingers came away hot and sticky and_ red _._

He raised his hand. Examined the knife like it was a specimen in a lab.

As suddenly as it came, it left. He let go of the knife, which clattered to the counter.

_Everything was stained in that same colour._

That same twice-damned colour.

_A veritable sea of red._

He curled up his fingers. Clenched his fist tighter. Swirled around. Struck the mirror with as much force as he could throw behind it.

He watched as the mirror shattered into a thousand pieces.

He ignored the sudden wave of _pain pain pain_ as he pulled back his hand. It came away red.

_Madison had never liked blood._

An indentation was left in the mirror where his fist had connected with it. A thousand small nets were spreading from it. Forming a network.

Spreading like Madison’s influence. Irredeemable. Toxic. Dangerous. Filth.

His chest ached.

He turned around. Gripped the sink tightly.

He vomited into the sink. Leaned against it. Took a steadying breath. Vomited again. Choked on his own nausea. Wiped the sticky liquid from his mouth with his sleeve, ignoring the way it slowly dripped onto the kitchen floor.

He closed his eyes.

The smell of vomit permeated the room, penetrating everything, spreading everywhere. Just like Madison. Wherever he turned, he saw the shadow of Madison.

_Never again._

Filth.

_Never again._

Dangerous.

_Never again._

Toxic.

**Author's Note:**

> This might be the shortest actual thing I've ever written. There's probably? going to be a continuation? Idk I'll see
> 
> Comments are the best Christmas gifts you can give :)


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